Thank you soooo much Jenjoremy for the fabulous beta job, Gredelina1 and SandraEngstom2 for help me get the ideas down and you all for sticking with the story.

Chapter Nineteen

John felt a flicker of something he was unwilling to call nerves when there was a knock on their motel room door. He knew it wasn't Sam and Dean, as they'd taken a key when they went out to get food, so that left Bobby Singer.

He'd been reluctant for Dean to call his old friend to come in and help them, but he'd accepted that the more hunters that were on the job, the better their chances. Dean had briefed Bobby on his return, which saved someone else accusing him of being a zombie, but he thought maybe Bobby would try to kill him anyway.

There was a second knock, impatient, so he crossed the room to open the door. Bobby's eyes widened when he caught sight of John, despite the foreknowledge, and then he glowered and pushed past him into the room.

"Where are the boys?" he asked. The way he said boys seemed proprietary to John's ears. That was going to get old fast.

"Out getting food."

Bobby nodded and turned away to set down his bags on the first bed. He took a breath and then spun on John with his gun raised and aimed carefully at John's chest.

John felt a moment of panic that quickly dissolved into annoyance. "You won't shoot me, Bobby."

"You think?" he asked. "Seems to me you deserve it."

"You won't hurt my boys like that."

His eyebrows rose. "Your boys? You really think you have the right to call them that now? Sam, I mean maybe, you didn't abandon him, but does he still count as a son or is he a partner now? A weapon, honed and ready for action?"

"You don't know a single thing about me and Sam," John growled.

"No? Maybe not. I know about you and Dean though, because I was the one that found him at that motel a year after you abandoned him, when he was still looking for you. I saw the devastation in the kid, and I had to be the one to tell him to stop looking before it drove him mad. I saw him in the years after, every time I could make the trip to check on him. I saw him become a man without you. So, yeah, I know about Dean."

It wasn't like the words had no effect on John, he felt them all, but he didn't let himself react. He had laid those ghosts to rest with Dean and he wasn't digging it all up again for Bobby Singer. "What happened between me and Dean is family business," he said.

Bobby pulled the trigger on an empty barrel. In that split second, though, John felt fear such as he hadn't since he was standing in a crossroads waiting for the hounds to come for him. He wasn't afraid for himself though; he was thinking of Sam and Dean. How would they cope if he was taken from them like this?

"You bastard," he growled.

Bobby laughed. "You scared, Winchester? Think maybe now you know what Dean felt like when he realized you weren't coming back for him?" He lowered the gun slightly and said, "I should have loaded, made you feel some of the pain Sam felt when he took the shot in that accursed cemetery, thinking it was the only way. Maybe make you see what you did to him with your damn obsession to kill The Demon."

"My son is a hero," John said in a menacing growl.

"Agreed. He's also a mess. You did that to him."

John raised his arms at his side. "Fine, load and shoot. Make my boys feel it all over again. But know they will never—"

At that moment the door clicked open and Dean's laugh could be heard. It cut off quickly as he came into the room and saw took in the scene—John presenting himself as a target and Bobby holding the gun.

"Hey!" he said, his voice higher pitched than usual. "What's going on?"

Sam didn't waste time with words. His son, his weapon, pulled his gun and aimed it at Bobby. John knew for a fact Sam's was loaded. "Put your gun away, Singer," Sam snarled.

Looking almost sad, Bobby lowered his gun and placed it carefully on the bed. Sam waited until he'd stepped away from it before tucking his own in the waistband of his jeans again.

"Okay," Dean said in a tone of forced calm, "what did we miss?"

"Just a chat between a couple old hunting buddies," John said, "Nothing more."

Sam stared him in the eye, seeming to be searching for something, and then he nodded.

Dean came fully into the room and set a grease-spotted paper sack down on the table. "Let's eat."

Whatever they'd walked in on with Bobby and John had put Sam in a hostile mood. It disappointed Dean because Sam was obviously laying all the blame at Bobby's feet—which wasn't exactly a surprise because he had been the one holding the gun—even though he knew John had the ability to piss anyone off enough to draw on him. And, as Bobby had once told Dean, he'd warned John a long time ago he'd shoot him if they met again. Not that Dean was pleased to have seen his father at gunpoint, but John had reassured them it hadn't been loaded.

They had more important things to worry about though, like Castiel's report. "The building Pestilence is in is crawling with demons."

Their plan had been to go in as suits, to pretend to be there for a meeting and trust in Sam's don't-ask-questions demeanor and John's ability to blag his way in anywhere to get them past security. They would never be able to get past demons covertly though. Sam and Dean were on the Most Wanted list, and John and Bobby were renowned hunters.

"Too many for me to handle?" Sam asked.

Castiel nodded. "More than Fort Wilcox."

And that had rendered Sam so exhausted he hadn't been able to hold himself upright. "Too many," Dean said firmly.

Sam nodded agreement and Dean smiled slightly; he'd expected Sam to argue the issue.

Bobby rubbed a hand through his beard, looking thoughtful. "There's always holy water," he said.

John scoffed. "If there's too many for Sam to handle, there's too many for us to take out with tricks like that."

"We don't take them out," Bobby said in a tone of forced patience. "We douse the sons of bitches with the water we've blessed in the sprinkler system. That should send them running."

"That's actually pretty clever," John admitted.

Dean's mind was pulled irresistibly back through the years to a school in Montana, a child's voice singing, a mocking laugh, desperation, fear, the howls of the hounds.

He must have swayed or paled, as he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked into Sam's eyes and saw the same shadow of horror in him that he was feeling. Sam raised an eyebrow, a question, and Dean nodded. Yeah, he was okay.

Sam turned to Bobby. "That should work. If we can just thin the herd even, I can deal with any stragglers. It's Pestilence we need anyway."

Sam got to his feet and rooted in his duffel, pulling out a clean flannel shirt and jeans. While he unbuttoned his white dress shirt, John and Bobby continued to plan and Dean opened the laptop and examined the building plans Ash had hacked and sent over to them. The main conference rooms were on the fifth floor, and that was where Ellsworth had said the meeting would be held.

"Jesus," John breathed, drawing Dean's attention from the plans.

Dean followed his gaze and saw what he was looking at. Sam's bare chest. He'd seen it since Sam had been held by Lucifer, so it wasn't a shock, but it still made him sick to see the visible evidence of what had happened to him. Sam's skin, already scarred by a life of hunting, was more marred than ever before. There were swirling pattern of red scars that had not yet silvered. They almost looked like art. There was a deep one at the base of Sam's throat, just beneath the one Meg had left him with in Miner's Delight, that made Dean wonder how he'd survived it.

Sam quickly pulled on a flannel shirt and buttoned it, turning his back on them all.

"Sammy," John said sadly.

"Don't want to talk about it," Sam said curtly.

John nodded and cleared his throat, though Dean could still see the horror in his eyes. "Castiel," he said, "Can you get us in the building?"

"Not inside," Castiel said. "I saw angel warding."

"Damn," Sam said. "Okay, we'll work around it."

Dean knew he wanted to get out of there, break the moment and tension of John's reaction. He didn't blame him. It wasn't like Sam needed reminders of what had happened to him. He surely had those nightmares already.

They arrived under Castiel's impetus on the roof of the office block, which was as close as he could manage to get with the warding. There were no goodbyes or good lucks exchanged between them. John went to work getting through the caged fencing around the water tank while Dean and Sam went through the door that led inside. Castiel stayed on the roof with Bobby and John. That reassured Sam as he thought some of the demons on higher levels might try to escape to the roof to evade the holy water.

The stairs were concrete, and their footsteps echoed against them as they descended. When they came to the floor marked five they stopped. Sam felt his heartbeat in his throat. Though he hadn't mentioned it to the others, the idea that Lucifer might show for this meeting had occurred to him. He didn't know what they could do if they came up against him again. They had to risk it though. Now that they knew, or suspected, what Pestilence's end game was, they had to stop him. Croatoan couldn't be unleashed on the world. If it was, it wouldn't matter who said yes or no, it would all end anyway.

"You ready?" Dean asked.

Sam took a breath, nodded, and reached for the door to the floor at the same moment the holy water started to stream from the sprinklers. For a moment, sense memory overwhelmed him, and he automatically reached for Dean.

"It's okay," Dean said, his voice strained. Sam thought he was feeling the same pull of memory.

The door was yanked out of Sam's hold then, and a demon ran through. She was in the meat suit of a young woman, her blonde hair plastered to her face and her skin sizzling. She didn't even seem to notice Sam and Dean there. She was occupied with getting away from the burning water.

Sam took the lead through the door and into the hall. Other demons were running along it, streaming out of a door at the end of the hall—men and women, old and young, all in professional looking office clothes, and all black eyed and in pain.

Sam and Dean pushed against the flow toward the door at the end of the hall; they were barely halfway there when Sam felt the punch of a memory again. Someone was laughing. It wasn't the childish amusement of Lilith in that poor child's body; it was a man. It still rocked Sam with shock though. Looking pale and scared, Dean took the lead, pulling Sam's arm to guide him. The movement snapped Sam back to himself and he hurried along with him.

Suddenly, Dean stumbled and Sam steadied him with a hand on the shoulder, "You okay?" he asked, surprised to hear his voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat and then a coughing fit overcame him. He lost track of where he was for a moment, as he tried to catch his breath, his lungs burning. He didn't understand. How could be feeling so sick so fast? Then he realized Dean was bent over coughing, too, his chest heaving.

"Pestilence," Sam rasped.

Dean nodded and wheezed, "Come on, we've got to… Before we…"

The sentence went unfinished, but Sam knew what he meant.

He forced one foot in front of the other, staggering along the now empty hall and through the door at the end, where he came face to face with Pestilence.

The horseman was sitting at the head of the table. He looked perfectly ordinary, early fifties maybe, sparse hair and angular jaw. He tapped a ring against the edge of a polished table as he surveyed Sam and Dean.

"Winchesters," he said almost genially.

Beside Sam, Dean's knees buckled and he dropped to the floor. Sam bent to help him up, but he fell forward onto hands and knees and found he couldn't get up again.

"What did you do…?" Dean asked in a moan.

Pestilence smiled and stood, walking slowly towards them. "I've given you a little taste of what I am capable of," he said. "A touch of scarlet fever, a little meningitis, a nice dose of syphilis."

"Bastard," Sam rasped.

"Technically, yes," Pestilence agreed. "I have brothers though." His voice became menacing. "Two of which you have rendered drooling messes."

"Good times."

Dean started to cough again, and Sam was worried that he was going to choke. The sounds made Sam's head pound with pain.

"I'm sure," Pestilence said mildly.

Dean slumped forward, his head tilted to the side and rasping breaths coming from him. Sam placed a hand on his back, wanting to say something to reassure him, but he had no words. He was certain they were both going to die there, and then, angelic protection or not, Lucifer would find them.

Suddenly, someone rushed past him and there was a howl of pain. Something hit Sam on the head and he saw a severed finger fall in front of his face. On the finger was a silver ring with a green stone. At the same moment, Sam realized he didn't feel sick anymore. He got to his feet and held out a hand to help Dean up.

Castiel stood beside the writhing Pestilence, gripping his angel blade in his hand and looking satisfied.

"How?" Dean asked. "The warding?"

Castiel gave a small shrug. "I am apparently not the angel I was once anymore. We should leave. It's not safe here." He eyed the ruined horseman speculatively.

"It's not safe anywhere," Pestilence hissed through his pain. "Soon, so soon, it will be over."

"You mean what you've got brewing in the lab?" Sam asked, relishing the shock in Pestilence's face. "Yeah, we know about that."

"What do you think you can do?" Pestilence asked. "You cannot stop us. We have power."

Sam smiled darkly. "Maybe you do. But we'll see just how much power you have when we've blown your lab sky high."

Sam turned his back on him and followed Castiel and Dean out of the room.

Once again, the building they had to penetrate was occupied by demons, though fewer than had been in the office. There was no way of blessing the sprinkler water this time, as the building was new enough that the sprinklers were connected to the city's main water supply. They were going to have to go in relying on Sam, the knife and Castiel's blade.

Dean wasn't happy about using Sam like that again, and he knew his father felt the same, but they had no choice but to do it. The lab had to be taken out and they needed to move fast. Castiel took them to the roof of the lab, all loaded with their duffels of explosive.

"Remember," John said, "we want to take the building down to rubble, so keep your positioning even."

"Got it," Dean said while Bobby grumbled assent.

"You ready for this?" John asked, turning to Sam.

Sam drew a deep breath, bracing himself and possibly finding the mindset he'd need to work, and nodded. "Ready, Dad."

John gave him a strained smile and said, "Let's get gone then."

Sam took the lead through the roof access door and down the stairs. As they passed a fire alarm point, Sam pulled it, setting the alarms to blaring. They'd discussed the fact any regular humans would exit the building with an alarm, leaving Sam clear to know who the demons were.

"Fire!" Sam shouted as they threw open a door into a hall with thinly carpeted floors and off-white walls. "Get out of here! Fire!"

People started streaming from the doors that lined the walls, some making for the stairs at a sensible practiced pace, others rushing in their panic. It didn't take long for the fear to spread and for more people to start running. Then the first black-eyed demon appeared and Sam went to work. He raised a fist and quickly dragged the demon from the meat-suit. Several more met the same fate in quick succession. Sam was working fast, too fast Dean thought, straining himself.

"Sam…" he started, trying to find words to make him slow down and take care of himself.

Sam looked away from the human who was just rising from the floor and a look of annoyance passed over his features. "Get on with it then!"

John squeezed Sam's shoulder and then pulled Dean along behind him, making for the end of the building. Casting Sam a reassuring smile, Dean went, pushing aside worry for his brother and concentrating on his job.

They were laying explosives at corners and center points of the floors, their plan to take out the building's supporting frame. He reached the east corner and set to work, taping the C-4 to the wall and attaching the remote detonator to it. He'd never done anything like this before, and his conscience was unsettled. They were getting as many people out as they could, but there were surely going to be some casualties. It was only the fact it was a few or the world that enabled Dean to keep going. He wondered when this had become his life: laying bombs and weighing up the cost of some lives against others. The answer was easy—it happened around the same time the world started to end.

He passed Bobby in the hall after laying his first bomb, but they didn't exchange a look or word. Bobby was tense, focused, and Dean thought he looked a lot like Sam when he was deep in a case. He'd shut down the lesser points of the world and focused on what mattered.

The first two floors were easy enough, but when Dean reached level three, he stopped dead and sucked in a harsh, shocked breath. Sam was lying on the floor, a bloody wound on his temple and his eyes closed.

"Sam!" He ran forward and dropped to his knees beside his brother.

Sam didn't even stir, but Dean's shout drew Bobby. "Dammit," he groaned.

Dean was still trying to rouse Sam. "Come on, Sammy. Open your eyes."

"Castiel," Bobby called.

Castiel appeared beside them and Bobby addressed him. "Get him out of here."

"We shouldn't…" Dean started, about to say that they shouldn't move him, but then reality of the situation caught up with him and he shook his head. They were about to blow the building. They couldn't abandon the mission, and they couldn't leave him.

"Okay," he said. "But be careful with him, Cas. Bobby, go with them." When fully powered, Castiel was a healer, but he wasn't fully powered and Dean knew Bobby had comprehensive medical knowledge. He could take care of Sam.

Bobby looked reluctant, "We've still got two floors to do."

"I'll take care of it."

Bobby nodded and set his duffel down carefully. Castiel reached for Sam, and a moment later, they were gone.

Dean pushed himself to his feet again and drew a breath. As worried as he was, he still had a job to do. He lifted Bobby's duffel and made for the corner room to set the next bomb.

John worked methodically, carefully setting each explosive to the wall and attaching the detonator. He made sure each action was precise and perfect, though he wanted to get it done and get his boys out of there.

Something was bothering him though. It was going too smoothly. Even with Sam taking out the demons, he thought he'd have met with at least one by now. The halls and rooms were empty though. The fire alarm still blaring explained the lack of humans, but the demons… He didn't understand it.

He had just reached the last room of the second floor when he realized why he hadn't met a demon—they were waiting for him to come to them.

The woman had dark hair that waved down her back and a smug smile. "Winchester," she greeted brightly. "Good to see you, alive and all. Tell me, how did that happen?"

"No idea," John said angrily, cursing the situation.

"I don't believe you."

John shrugged. "You think I care what you believe?"

She grinned. "I think I can make you care just fine."

She appeared in his space and rocked out a fist. It slammed into his cheek, mashing it against his teeth.

"You think that'll make a difference?" John asked, spitting blood. "I've been to Hell."

"Me too," she said brightly. "How did you like it? Quite the experience, right? You should thank me for fixing that up for you."

"You?"

She reached into the inner pocket of her leather jacket and pulled out a short knife. She pressed it against his throat. "Ringing any bells, Johnny?" she asked. "True, last time it was Sammy on the edge of the blade, but I'd think you'd remember."

"You!" John hissed. This was the demon that had almost killed Sam before his eyes. According to Dean, she'd also been the one to possess him, torture Sam and almost suffocate him on other occasions. He owed her.

"Now you're getting it. Yep. Me. Name's Meg."

"Bitch," John growled.

She pressed the tip of the knife into his throat, drawing blood. "That was not polite." She tilted her head to the side. "Oh, here comes a real treat."

John heard the door open behind him and Dean's scared voice. "Dad!"

"It's okay, son," John said.

"Okay?" Meg laughed. "You have no idea just how not-okay this is about to be." Still pressing the tip of the blade to John's throat, she reached into his pocket and pulled out the remote detonator. "Now, this, this is cool," she said.

"Dean! Run!" John shouted.

"No!" Dean gasped.

"He won't," Meg said. "He's not going to leave his daddy all alone. Down in flames, right, Dean? That's what Sammy told you."

"Dad," Dean whispered.

"Run!" John commanded.

Meg grabbed John's wrist and spun him, twisting his arm up behind his back and bringing the knife around to press against his throat. "Feels good, right? Think Sammy was as scared as this when I had him pinned?"

"Run, Dean," John said again, ignoring the demon's words.

Dean did not obey. He appeared in John's peripheral vision, white-faced and scared but determined. From his pocket, he pulled the demon knife and raised it in front of him. "Let him go!" he snarled.

"Sure I will." She shoved him away and John stumbled forward to the window. He turned on his heel, ready to rush the demon, but even as he did he saw her press down on the trigger.

The building shook as the first bomb blew.

"C'mon, Sam," Bobby urged. "Wake up."

Sam's breaths were steady and his pulse strong, but he'd been out a long time and Bobby was worried. The wound on his temple looked nasty and he was worried about what internal damage might have been done. Afraid, he hadn't asked Castiel if he could sense it.

He pinched the lobe of Sam's ear and then spoke encouragingly as Sam's eyes rolled beneath their lids. "That's right, Sam. Wake up time."

Sam groaned and his eyes opened. "What…" he asked, his slurred voice worrying Bobby further.

"You got knocked out," Bobby said. "Lay still awhile."

Naturally, Sam ignored him. He pushed himself to a sitting position, raising a shaky hand to probe his wound, and grimaced. "Dean and Dad?" he asked.

Bobby shook his head. "Still laying the bombs. They'll be out soon."

Sam's eyes tightened and he looked nervously up at the building. Castiel had set them down at the back, away from the crowd of people that had exited the building with the alarms. Bobby could hear their voices as a rumble. In the far distance he could hear the fire trucks' sirens.

"They will be okay, Sam," Castiel said, his tone soft.

Sam started, as if realizing he was there for the first time. "Know that for a fact do you?" he asked bitterly.

Castiel looked apologetic. Sam didn't cast him a second glance. He fixed his eyes on the building, seeming to be willing his father and brother to come out. Suddenly, he stiffened and said, "Dad!"

Bobby followed his gaze and saw John Winchester in the window on the second floor. His palms were against the glass. He was only there a moment before disappearing from view, but it was long enough for Bobby's heart to contract with fear. Something was wrong.

Sam started to struggle to his feet and Castiel reached out a hand to help him. That was when the bombs started to detonate.

Bobby watched in a kind of trance as windows burst out and the walls seemed to swell. Then the fire started, pouring out of the windows, even as the walls collapsed. A huge cloud of dust and smoke started at the ground and spread upward in a billowing fog. Bobby felt the blast of heat.

"Dean! Dad!" Sam bellowed, getting to his feet and staggering towards the now fire consumed building.

"Stop him, Cas!" Bobby shouted.

Castiel grabbed Sam around the chest and held him back. Sam struggled but he was no match for the angel's strength. Inarticulate shouts and pleas poured from Sam, but Bobby barely heard them. His mind was focused on that building and the people inside. Dean inside. John inside.

"Oh God," he moaned. His own voice seemed muffled.

Sam was screaming now, his hand coming up to yank on his hair. Blood began to flow from the wound on his head again, dripping down his face and wetting his shirt, and his struggles became less powerful.

"Sam," he said gently, his attention slowly coming back to the present.

"No!" Sam howled. Bobby had heard that sound before, the vocal release of more pain than man could stand. He'd heard it in an auditorium in Montana.

"I'm sorry," Castiel was chanting. "I am so, so sorry."

Sam took no comfort from his words. He turned to Bobby and Bobby saw his pupils were blown and his face white. "Help me," he begged.

There was nothing Bobby could do though. The only people who mattered to Sam in that moment had been in that burning building. His father. His brother.

Suddenly, a choking voice called to them through the smoke, and Bobby's heart seemed to stop.

"Sam?"

It was Dean. As Castiel's grip loosened with shock, Sam staggered forward, stumbling and shouting for his brother. Bobby followed him and watched as Sam collided with a frantic Dean. Their arms tangled as they reached for each other, and then they were embracing, each saying the other's name as reassurance.

Then Sam pulled back and looked around. "Dad?" he asked, then his voice rose to a shout. "Dad!"

He was still calling for him as Castiel locked eyes with Dean and shook his head. Dean's face crumpled. He gripped the back of Sam's head and forced him to look into his eyes. "Sammy…" he said. "Dad's…" His voice broke.

"No," Sam howled.

"Yes," Castiel said gently. "I'm sorry, Sam. Your father is gone."

Sam fell forward and Dean caught him as he collapsed.

John's eyes opened and he looked around. He was in a sumptuously decorated room, the walls decorated with art and a marble topped table in front of him.

"Where am I?" he asked.

Someone cleared his throat and John looked up. There was a portly man with sparse hair standing beside him wearing a black suit and smug smile. "This? This is what we call the green room."

"Who are you? What am I doing here?"

"My name is Zachariah, and you are here, John Winchester, because we have a job for you to do."

So… That happened. I feel I should apologize, so sorry, but you should know by now that I like to make with the twists and angst.

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx